
Class 

Book L 

Copyright N°. 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



THE HERMITAGE 

AND RANDOM VERSES 



THE HERMITAGE 

AND RANDOM VERSES 



BY 



DAYTON ERVIN 




*3 






THE GRAFTON PRESS 

NEW YORK 



THE LIBRARY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two Copies Received 

MAY, 20 1902 

COPVRIOMT ENTRY 

CLASS A- XXc. No. 
COPY B. 






Copyright 1902 
By The Grafton Press. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



The Hermitage, .... 


9 


Usurpation, 


. 15 


Lincoln, ...... 


17 


Harrison, ...... 


. 18 


The Penitent's Return, 


19 


Columbia, ...... 


. 20 


The Eve Before the Battle, 


21 


An Invocation to Democracy, 


. 22 


Retribution, ..... 


23 


The Fallen Chieftain, . . . . 


• 24 


An Invocation, 


25 


Sincerity, 


. 26 


Love's Tribute, ..... 


27 


Sweet Maiden Puritan, . . . . 


. 28 


Kather, 


29 


The Man Without the Hoe, . 


• 31 


Ennui, ...... 


2>2 


A Refuge, 


■ 33 


Dolly's Mother, 


35 


The Miniature Man, . . . . 


. 36 


A Witch, 


37 


The Old Mill, 


• 38 


The Wood, 


40 


Beneath the Maples, . . . . 


. 42 


Discretion, 


43 


Honesty, ...... 


. 44 



Vermont, ....... 45 

A Pathetic Picture, 46 

The Poor Man's Plaint, .... 47 
The Ceaseless Grind, . . . . -49 

The Wise Demand, . . . . . 50 

The Voice of the Maniac, . . . -52 

Spaids, 53 

The Sequence, 55 

The Boer's Legacy, ..... 56 



THE HERMITAGE 



THE HERMITAGE. 

The maples on the hill hide there the Hermi- 
tage, the strange man's Hermitage. The thick, 
dark wood protects it from the northern blasts 
while grand is the sunside view. For twenty 
years this man now on the shady side of middle 
age, has held communion with the hills which rise 
across the vale in ranges high and long. For 
twenty years he has watched the snake-like river 
wind along the valley — watched the woods, the 
fields and here and there a village shine an 
alabastrine group. To eastward far away the 
smoked-capped mountains rise like chains of 
dusky clouds ; — how oft he's gazed beyond to 
scenes in mists of tears where float perchance 
the clouds of disappointed life. The inward 
void, the want which he had felt fulfilled could 
have made his life complete, would see a pleading 
face which knew a tale of life and love which 
he had buried here in mystery. 

In days long since gone by a maiden in the 
bloom of womanhood, with love for nature s 
voice and strong religious bent, had found in 
his companionship a tonic for her life. She 
looked for him to guide her taste in books 
and art, while he in turn must keep each 
cherished thought for her, and both had felt 
the stir of new-born sympathy. A hearty com- 



radeship they chose to think was theirs ; though 
in their secret hearts each knew or felt that their 
two secrets were the same; together hfe was 
joy. One subject only stood apart in either 
mind and trembled at approach. They found the 
dreaded line where disagreement came and 
shunned it as a foe. 

In early years he held the faith his mother 
gave, with Calvinistic creed. The doctrine of the 
church was daily served as food to grow and 
save his soul. As time went on the world grew 
larger in his sight. His speculative mind out- 
grew his early creed and he made search for 
what he thought a larger faith. Grim doubt 
had paid him court, his reason soon had seen 
how small its circle was within infinitude. 

Her trust was in her love of God. She never 
let strange questionings disturb, and sighed at 
thought of his unholy heresies, and longed to 
conquer them. She knew his mind was far too 
strong for her attack and only loved the man 
the more because of strength and downright 
honesty too firm to feign to love. He viewed her 
simple faith with lover's tolerance, and felt the 
peace it held was wiser than the thought ; he 
saw in it no bar to their full happiness. 

This strong, assertive man had held his pas- 
sion well subdued until it was an avalanche of 
love. One fateful day, a time that proved least 
opportune, he loosed the pent-up force of his 
large nature with explosive, feeling words. *0 



turn not from me now," he said, " 'twas you 
who taught me love ne'er known before !" The 
woman, trembling, pale, made move to speak, 
but he with words almost command — "Don't tell 
me you don't love ; you're not the fickle maid ; 
we've known of love for long." A stitled sob 
was her reply, and then she'd gone. Astonished, 
dazed, he knew not what her action meant ; he 
felt with him was blame but hoped her act a 
dream. He wandered aimlessly from place to 
place — all strange. unearthly, everywhere, a 
gloom-enveloped world. A message came at last 
which told what she must say. "'No love is 
like the love of God," she said, "for God is 
love, and you deny. No; tempt me not. If 
God or you must be my choice, my God I cling 
to Thee. Come in the fold where God approves, 
and consecrate your life with mine to work for 
Him, and then we'll live with Christ in happi- 
ness." Then came a sad adieu. 

"O God!" he groaned, "and it has come to 
this !" In time the pain relaxed and hope looked 
forth; his heart had whispered what would 
make her answer "yes." But soon another 
change had come ; his face was ashen pale, his 
head assumed a calm, determined pose, — convic- 
tion answered "no ; a lie will not bring happi- 
ness." He spoke aloud "the old creed's dead in 
me; a wanderer with doubts" — a pause, and 
then a low and husky voice which knew the 
throes of blank despair, as from the depths bc- 

II 



low, rejoined "and roam in vain.'' His gloom- 
land still remained in days that came and went. 
The birds sang in the trees their melancholy 
songs; the brook had lost its joy; the twilight's 
hope had gone. 

She turned her pale, sweet face to God and 
asked- for strength to bear the pain of heart. 
The days went by ; she seemed so tender and 
serene, but paler, thinner grew. With much 
alarm her friends would watch her day by day, 
and turn away to hide the tear which came with 
thought. So young ! so beautiful ! so pure 
her saintly life! yet fading day by day. Her 
prayer — her grave concern, — That he should find 
her Christ. When left alone this thought would 
well the crystal tears which glistened in her 
eyes as loved ones approached her. 

He heard of her concern for him with anguish 
in his heart. 'T will," he cried, "respond to her 
dear wish;" and paced with restless feet, then 
stopped and moaned, "I can't." As lower ebbed 
the tide of life he asked to see once more the 
lovely face. "O spare the pain," she sobbed, 
"unless he welcomes too, my Savior in his life." 

They never met again. One morning. May was 
there, kind nature was in tears ; the bloom was 
in the grass, the bird his carol hushed, her soul 
had gone to God. And he, the man, soon left his 
childhood scenes and found the lonely Hermi- 
tage; from whence he views the young glad 
days ; the old, sad days, with tender memories. 



RANDOM VERSES 



USURPATION. 



God-devil is the hybrid creature, man, 
Immortal mortal, animal his guise. 
He walks his way, the good Samaritan, 
Compassionate, uplifting fallen men. 
He strives for some eternal truth, maligned 
By knaves and cowards, ostracised by friends. 
His kindly sight sees beauty, justice, love; 
In sound finds harmony, in silence, God. 
His impulse from base lineage blasphemes. 
Reviles his friends, his sister wrongs of wealth. 
Seduces whom he can, lies, murders, steals, 
Then lifts his hands blood-red with crime toward 

God. 
Thus death has vengeance for a day ; but list ! 
In God's great purpose of immortal souls 
Altruism opes the gates of Paradise. 

II. 

In far off time when man and man combined 

For their defense, their silent compact held 

For equal rights and equal sacrifice. 

The major number held the right of sway. 

For numbers count for rights among the throng. 

When fitness crowned a leather-ruler, king. 

His sov'reignty was delegated right. 

Or usurpation of the rights of all. 

A yoke of bondage never came from God ; 

15 



The people will, the king must abdicate. 

A nation rests in no vague entity 

But lives the life and conscience of its men. 

III. 

The awful din has ceased ; the vanquished gone ; 
The victor hastes the hot pursuits of death. 
Beneath the stars the dead and wounded lay- 
On blood-wet ground from whence the groans 

were heard. 
But sadder than the sight of carnage there 
A nation loving freedom met its death. 
Henceforth a foreign race with iron hand 
May dictate life and death within its realm. 
O brutal conqueror! your conquest brings 
You shame, your Croesus time will call a knave. 
'Tis Christ who lives through ages, conquerors 
Soon fade within the shade of just contempt. 
Your claims of "better rule" to justify, 
Old father Satan dictates for excuse. 
A prison rule may make the savage tame. 
But progress marks the rise of strong, free men. 
Whate'er the race, responsibility 
Will teach its men to govern for themselves. 
O men whose fathers bled for freedom's cause! 
Before the door of usurpation wait 
And ponder that no subject race is free. 



i6 



LINCOLN. 

A sombre figure in repose, with gleams 
Of humor dawning on a kindly face, 
He stands erect above the heroes round, 
Benign, a champion of humanity. 
With mighty strokes he broke a bondman's chain, 
And from the ground he raised him then a man. 
This deed just done, a shot was heard. He fell — 
Then fell the great, the true American ! 
Look once again at him, the wise and just, 
And see the statesman and the honest man ; 
Again draw near the pulse of that great heart 
Which beat so strong for rights of other men ! 
Aye ! take one breath of that humility 
Which he had known, — a waft from Calvary. 



17 



HARRISON. 

A hero of the hour, he dared to stand 
Against the swift, strong current of the time, 
Now sweeping on engulfing rights of men. 
His ear still heard the voice of Freedom call 
As when 'mid battle's din he led the way 
Against the force that held the black man slave. 
His voice with firm, strong tones still braved her 

cause 
When pride of race was searching for a crown. 

Silence ! he sleeps while sorrow clouds our realm ! 
A pause — a sob re-echoes in the heart 
And brave men grieve — a noble man has gone. 
We bring our dearest tribute, — love of right 
And love for him who is no more ; and mourn 
That Freedom's lost her leader in the land. 



i8 



THE PENITENT'S RETURN. 

My dear Republic, now I turn to thee, 
A wayward son returns that he may see 
His homeland as his father left it — free ! 
Old forms, the heroes o' childhood, come to me 
And point the way toward humanity. 
Again the voice of freedom bends my knee 
At thy loved hearthstone while across the sea 
The night winds murmur, ''wrongs must righted 
be." 

Strange voices led me to be outward bound, 
The past was meagre to this world new-found. 
Where "power," "gain," were watchwords all 

around ; 
But in our course was left the fresh-made 

mound. 
And then the father's words with one resound 
Answered "thou walkest tyrants' ill-gained 

ground." 



19 



COLUMBIA. 

Decked with rare jewels, wealth at her command, 
Her stately bearing stands them all in awe. 
How proudly flash her cold gray eyes, with hand 
Upon the helm of state, the queen of law ! 
The pride of self is written on her brow^ ; 
Those tell-tale life-marks on her handsome face 
Are where her broken promises made trace : 
This is Columbia as she is now. 

In olden days a young fair maiden stood, 
The rich embodiment of strength and youth ; 
Her sunny face emitted rays of good 
For all, so strong her love for man and truth. 
At her no finger pointed with distrust, 
For young Columbia was not for lust. 



20 



THE EVE BEFORE THE BATTLE. 

The eve before the battle, silent, calm, 

The bivouacs of two armies line the plain. 

A rifle's crack now startles — that is all. 

The sentinel paces his lonely beat. 

Loud throbs the soldier's heart ; he thinks of home, 

Love's tender face with dimpled childhood there. 

A silent prayer he breathes, with heavy heart, 

And leaves his loved ones to the care of God. 

Across the plain his country's foe awaits 

The dawn, to kill and conquer, then to rule. 

The needs of home and freedom fire his soul. 

He proudly lifts his head above the thought 

Of death, a premonition of his fate. 

Then on the ground he lies for his last sleep. 



21 



AN INVOCATION TO DEMOCRACY. 

Democracy, reveal thyself to us ! 

Bring back thy concept that our fathers had 

Renew the zeal for individual rights, 

And turn our minds from greed to principle. 

Teach once again of true nobility. 

That manhood is the bed-rock verity 

On which the life of any nation rests. 

Help us our lesser brothers to uplift ; 

Repudiate the thought of bartered rule ; 

Remind us that thou hast no king, no slave. 

No ruler — all must dictate, all must serve. 

Dispel the dream of empire from our midst ; 

Adjust our complicated life to thine. 

And often turn our faces toward our God. 



22 



RETRIBUTION. 

Though flows to death the Hfe-blood of a race, 
Though bandits triumph for a thousand years, 
God rules. Strong Impulse with his check of 

fears, 
Fair Choice of Lifeways, children of His grace, 
Stand waiting at the turn reflectively. 
Two ways before them branch — to life, to death. 
The one leads on to untold years to be, 
The other only spans the human's breath. 

For each "well done" God gives a recompense, 

For each injustice limits sight and sense. 

The true brave man stands forth with glow of 

youth. 
The evil speaks upon the criminal's face. 
Thought wi'dens, narrows, with the scope of truth, 
Appreciation blesses man and race. 



23 



THE FALLEN CHIEFTAIN. 

Half-mast the banners, toll the bell, 

Our great loved Chieftain bravely died. 

He stood amid the throng to tell 
By kindly grasp his love so wide, 

When from a traitor's fiendish hand 

A shot was fired that shook the land. 

He fell "the greatest of us all," 

Then spread the cloud of gloom o'er head 
And Anguish beckoned to our call. 

He's gone; he numbers with the dead. 
Muffle the drum; play softly now 
To soothe the heart and cool the brow. 

Speak gently, holy was his life ; 

Love's gracious hand was at the helm 
Commanding, yielding, conquering strife. 

Bring flowers, blooming o'er the realm ; 
They've grown more tender, sweet and fair 
With sorrow's burden now to bear. 



24 



AN INVOCATION. 

The organ's deep and mellow voice was hushed. 
A sacred silence calmed each waiting soul. 
Before them stood a godly man with hands 
Uplifted signaling approach to prayer. 
A low clear voice those bowed heads heard say : 
"Our Father, draw us closer to Thyself, 
And rest our troubled heads upon thy breast. 
Dispel the grim and awful spectre — death ! 
Again remind us ours are finite minds 
And turn our wayward thoughts of death to life. 
We feel the shield of thy protecting arm 
We know again thy joy of childlike trust. 
Infinite Father, God, in this commune 
We feel the noble impulse of thy life." 



SINCERITY. 

Ah, sweet sincerity, the lairest face 

Could envy thy expression an3 thy grace. 

That sympathetic look, that soothing hand. 
Which cools my fevered brow and calms my 
thought, 

Both these are sweet in this combative land ; 
To him who fights, must fight again, has fought 

In life's affrays. Thy virtue is the power 

That holds us true in fierce temptation's hour ; 
And this it is that saves us, safe at last. 

From that vain thought that man was made in 
vain. 
The beauty of the flowers is thy cast ; 

Though man may claim thee his, for sense of 
pain 
Is thine, so counts thy healing, soft caress ; 

Thou art divine in human loveliness. 



26 



LOVE'S TRIBUTE. 

She came to earth and walked amid the flowers. 

And breathed their fragrance — all so beautiful. 

The sweet arbutus bloom was on her cheek ; 

Her lips the rose bud kissed ; and fairer still 

Than all the rest, the lily soul within. 

The tender sunshine of her eyes shown forth 

With rays of gentle, smiling radiance 

Which came, the light of a pure and loving heart. 

She came and filled the hearts of friends with 

cheer ; 
And reigned the queen of a bright and happy home. 
She came and in the bloom of womanhood, 
When life was full of all that she held dear, 
With a fond good-bye to her cherished ones. 
She fell asleep among the blooming flowers. 



27 



SWEET MAIDEN-PURITAN. 

Sweet maiden-Puritan! 

The morning beam is in thy hair, 

Red roses in thy cheek. 
The snow white hly calls thee fair, 

The tiger lily meek. 
The breezes from the mountain side 

So softly whisper thee 
Those words thy lover did confide 

Beneath the old elm tree. 

Sweet maiden-Puritan, 

In nimble housewife's charming guise 

With song thy task is done ; 
A mirrored gladness in thy eyes. 

Thou art a favored one. 
Thy life is like the river deep 

Which flows so smooth along 
While underneath cross currents sweep ; 

Thou standest mild but strong. 

Sweet maiden-Puritan, 

The church bell sounds the hour of prayer 

Across the village green 
Sedate with gracious modest air 

Thy white robed form is seen. 
Within God's calm and holy place 

Thy spirit finds repose 
And on thy lovely upturned face 

The light of Christ now shows. 

28 



KATHER. 

Fair, fragile Kather there is sitting in the autumn 

sun, 
Her clear blue eyes look from a face of marble, 

sweet, benign. 
And seem to see, we know not what, yet feel it is 

her God. 
Each day she wanders to this realm unknown to us 

of earth ; 
And thus she sits, a dainty dweller of another 

sphere. 
Beside her, holding fast her thin white hand, her 

lover sits, 
His pleading look, his warm, strong hand brings 

back her mind to earth ; 
A radiance of tenderness and pity beams her face 
As she so gently says : "Dear Murry do not feel 

so sad, 
Though I must leave you ! you shall come to me 

and be my own. 
My sad regret is that my heart was once untrue to 

you, 
Though then I knew you not, in truth ; my heart 

did bleed for him 
Who loved me not, and earth was dark and dreary 

to me then ; 
But now to live, and live for you, would make 

life sweet to me. 

29 



It cannot be ; but do not cry, for we shall meet 

again." 
A halo seemed to crown her head, and she was 

far away, 
Brought back to soothe and pity, now and then, as 

sobs were heard ; 
And still she dwells in other spheres, but now 

comes back no more. 



30 



THE MAN WITHOUT THE HOE. 

The music of a minor key — a dirge, 

The plaintive strains which sometimes sob, now 

wail. 
The north wind shrieks ; the elements are fierce. 
December — list ! it is a human voice. 
Out in the cold a man stands trembling, weak, 
And impotent ; and chants his dirge of life. 
The brand of indecision marks his face ; 
His hands are white, his clothing threadbare, old. 
And want compels his listless life to roam. 
He dreams of gentle birth, a foundling once; 
And deigns to call the man of toil a beast. 
The prudish gentleman of poverty. 
He shirks the filth of work. To be the guest 
Of wealth and style would count him life's success. 

Ah, once his life was brighter. Love held sway. 
But she who left a happy home to share 
His weal and woe, now fills an unknown grave. 
She lived and strove for bitter years a slave 
To his conceit ; and poverty, neglect 
And crime, his evil contributions, filled 
Her bitter cup too full ; and want, disease. 
Incessant toil, death — left her children waifs. 
God pity him, and pity all the slaves 
Of fears of condescension. Give, O give 
To them the light of independent thought 
Which dares the man to labor with his hands. 
To wield the hoe, — not lean, the artist's fool. — 
Becoming master of his destiny. 

31 



ENNUI. 

Now put away your book, dear ; give your time 

to me ; 
For I'm so tired and lonely, lonely as can be. 
How can I well express it, — how I feel today? 
It is akin to sadness, yet in some strange way 
A pleasure sweet, subdued, pathetic, tempers all, 
As though the ache was ceasing after the painful 
fall. 

I'm here for entertainment, not to entertain ; 
So talk the lightest chatter, dear; do not refrain. 
But no, the serious might better suit my mood. 
You smile — I'm fitful, foolish, and perhaps it's 

rude. 
'Tis childish thus to feel, — so much inclined to 

cry. 
Your hand upon my head ; it aches ; my throat 

is dry. 
***** 
I'm feeling better now — if you will only play! 
I'll rest upon the sofa, while in your sweet way 
You play those dreamy pieces of plaintive melody ; 
They always rest and comfort when I feel ennui. 



32 



A REFUGE. 

The barn's a lucky refuge, 

When the day is drenched with rain. 
And darkness makes it gloomy 

With our spirits on the wane. 

Tis then I seek the haymow 
With its fragrant bed of hay, 

And lying there in comfort 
I enjoy the rainy day. 

The drops keep on increasing 
Till they reach a torrent's pour. 

And force between the shingles 
Drip, drip, drip upon the floor. 

The dusty cobwebs hanging 
From the rafters overhead 

Are threads for weaving fancies 
While I'm resting on this bed. 

A misty haze surrounds me, 

Lifting thought to fairest themes. 

For, standing there in beauty, 
Is the fairy of my dreams. 

Yes, standing in my vision. 
With her sweet angelic grace. 

That dainty, comely maiden. 
With a smile upon her face. 



33 



Those eyes that know but loving 
Speak a tenderness serene, 

And show a pure, sweet nature 
Which on manly arms should lean. 

Oh, oft my heart brims over 
With the love of her dear self ! 

To think that I, unworthy, 
Have the love of such an elf ! 

But hark! 'tis John that's calling; 

What he wants we soon shall hear. 
Ah, well, the rain is over 

And my dream all spoiled, I fear. 



34 



DOLLY'S MOTHER. 

Our dolly's little mother rocks her child to sleep; 
So hush, my baby. 

She sings and rocks and sings her lullaby with peep 
At her sweet baby. 

With loving arms she folds her darling to her 
breast, 

Her dolly baby ; 

And tenderly down she lays her precious child 
to rest; 

So sleep, dear baby. 

That sweet, maternal, chubby. little mother child 
Tucks in her baby 

With soft caress; and leaves with anxious look 
and mild 

Her sleeping baby. 



THE MINIATURE MAN. 

A boy with 3^ellow curls and dresses like the girls 

But yesterday. 
A man in miniature with pants and coat, it's sure, 

He stands today. 
What pride in his survey as he will gaily say, 

With joyful bound, 
"My papa bought me these," and then a hand 
he'll seize 

And frolic round. 
He skips upon the floor, and bounces out the door. 

To play with boys. 
He runs with boistrous glee and splits our ears, 
may me. 

With shouts and noise. 



36 



A WITCH. 

Now see her as she stands with artless grace, 
A roguish smile lights up her handsome face, 
And gleeful laughter fills her star-lit eyes. 
Which show a blissful spirit underlies 
The glad expression. 

The cadence of her dulcet voice we hear ; 
It chimes a rippling laughter in the ear ; 
So ready for the playful jest is she, 
And from all vain deceit we find her free 
And unassuming. 

This flower of innocence and youthful bloom 
Finds many victims of enchantment's doom ; 
The winsome ways of her endearing charms 
Inclines the heart to hold her in his arms. 
She's so bewitching. 



THE OLD MILL. 

While straying through the forest on a bright, 

warm autumn day, 
My mind attuned its vision to the scenes which 

round me lay ; 
A gala show of brightness clothed the sombre 

wood with tints, 
And tinged the grave, sweet autumn, with some 
thoughts of lighter hints. 

Along an old-time roadway, where the wheel- 
marks now are dim, 

And trees have crowded over, leaving but a path 
for him 

Who walks this way, I sauntered at my eass. 
Beneath my feet 

The spalty twigs made snap and crackle, startling 
to retreat, 

Advance, and both at once it seemed ; the squirrel 
from the bough. 

Whose scolding chatter sounded through the 
wood, — a teasing vow. 

And thus my aimless strolling brought me to a 

time-worn mill, 
Whose broken-down appearance was a theme for 

artist's skill ; 
And there I stood and pondered o'er the things 

which have a past, 

38 



And wondered what the mill had seen from first 
its years to last. 

Beside it ran a little brook as young and bright 

and free 
As when it turned the mill-wheel round, long 

years ago, with glee. 
The wheel long-gone, and dusky looked the 

tumbled mill as lights 
And shadows played their antics on its sides with 

gay delights. 
Like gloomy age it stooped beneath the lofty trees 

around, 
A solemn figure in that forest's presence hushed 
from sound. 



39 



THE WOOD. 

How like a fairy-land is this ! How fresh 
And green and beautiful's the world outside ! 
As here I sit on soft, fresh moss, so near 
The brook which speeds along with miirmurings, 
And watch stray sunbeams flick'ring down through 
The foliage which forms this leafy shade, 
I know — to me, at least, a paradise 
I've found. No selfish passionate desire 
Here mars the flow of tranquil thought ; and here 
I list to music which is heard without 
Regard to some set, fashioned rule of art ; 
And, listening, I think that nature's sweet, 
Glad melodies have charms surpassing all 
Acquirements men have studied and obtained. 
No flaw distracts the mind when to the ear 
The warbler's notes come like the overflow 
Of a happy soul. No conscious pride, no mark 
Of affectation, breaks the harmony. 

A calm enchantment fills the wood ! and yet, 

How oft we walk with bowed head and brow 

Reflecting care, and all around a dark, 

Drear aspect seems to wear. A pleasant word, 

Some cheerful news, a small success, and all 

The world is changed. New objects come to view. 

New scenes abound in old, familiar haunts. 

A new life dwells within, and everything 

40 



Reflects the sunny hope and happiness 
With which the world has been made cheerful, 
bright. 

Now, hearken ! 'Tis the dinner bell which calls 

The farmer from his work. With daily toil 

Half done, he seeks his mid-day meal. Those 

fields. 
With broad expanse of swaying grain, are his. 
He sowed those fields and he may reap ; and rich 
The recompense may be for all he's done. 
His mind a world within those acres finds. 
The hard-earned dollars represented there 
Increase his love of gain ; and toil he will, 
And scrimp and spare and save, with mind intent 
On acquisition as the years pass by. 

Come back, now thought, to this fair silvan scene, 

And let the world of trade be veiled from view. 

That great perserver and destroyer, Change. 

Is ever ling'ring in our hearts ; and he 

It is who pulls the cord that rings the bell 

Of time; for all is transient in our world. 



41 



BENEATH THE MAPLES. 

The morning sun with brightness cheers the earth. 
Beneath the maples is a fairy berth. 
Tall mountains in the distance, capped with blue, 
Green hills and fields are nearer to the view. 
The farmyard cackle makes a distant sound; 
The locust pours in its one shrill note around. 
The air the sunshine fills with golden haze, 
And sweetly lonely sound fair nature's lays. 
The earth, the air, the sky, in calm repose. 
While upward, Godward, thought and feeling goes. 
A taste of Heaven's unpolluted bliss 
Alone could know of rapture like to this. 

'Tis good to know this spell and feel its charm, 
For finer feelings, purer thoughts disarm 
The coarser self from selfish greed and lust, 
And tune the life to manhood, God our trust. 
Mere business may be prose and need no wings 
For fairy flight, no voice which laughs and sings ; 
But he who sees and tastes not beauty's store, 
Nor feels an inspiration raise and pour. 
At times, its soothing spirit through his soul, 
With coarser foods his finer sense cajole. 
So why not come when duty grants our choice, 
And rest beneath the trees and hear the voice 
Which lifts us from the common place to where 
We find ecstatic beauty rich and rare? 

42 



DISCRETION. 

Kind friend, best counsellor, and safest guide, 
In whom no trace of lowly brute is found, 
Humanity, the greatest good, — the sound 

To him is sweet, — shines forth with modest pride 

Upon a face whose mouth will now deride 
Whatever dooms the morrow to regret, — 
Those things so oft recurring we'd forget. 

If he would let them slumber where they hide. 
A manly form with Health and Strength as 
heirs, 

A noble brow and deeply thoughful eyes, 
A brain with large intelligence he dares 

To do the thing that's best to do, and tries 
Precaution's sage advice, and keeps in view 
The end that passion, unrestrained, leads you. 



43 



HONESTY. 

The noblest man of all the human race ! 
Thy goodness shows upon his honest face. 

And genius never wrought a work of power, 
Unless we find the impress of thy hand 

Revealing true the looks, the acts, the hour 
That suit the theme for which they truly stand. 

A Hawthorne in his fiction lends a charm 

To the fanciful by thy supporting arm. 
E'en falsehood knows thy worth, for he is sure 

To feign thy virtues and to don thy clothes, 
Thereby to gain a trust, and thus procure 

Suspicion's banishment, — the foe he loathes. 
Without thee men would be but sneaking knaves. 
And this a world of masters and of slaves. 



44 



VERMONT. 

Fair land, my native state beloved, to thee — 
Thy mountains verdure clad, and valleys green 
Thy rivers, brooks, each prattling brooklet seen. 
To these that Nature made so fair and free — 
I look with rev'rent eyes today to see 
The impress of thy Maker's hand ; and feel 
His presence, smiling ev'ry where, reveal 
To me a glimpse of His divinity. 
Thy sons and daughters, children of thy hills, 
Have breathed from childhood thy pure air, and 

drunk 
From crystal springs the draught that knows no 

ills. 
And found the dell or upland barky trunk 
A friend. So close to nature all your own 
They've lived thy image in their souls has grown. 



45 



A PATHETIC PICTURE. 

A stooping figure totters there, 
Grown older by defeat and care. 
Those eyes so sunken now and dim, 
Once showed a burning fire in him ; 
That hand that feebly holds the cane, 
Then grasped the sword and led the main. 
The husky voice so slow of speech 
Has sounded clear, and in its reach 
An awe has passed from ear to ear 
That held them dumb that would not hear. 
Now slow intelligence he speaks 
Who once had spoken lightning streaks. 
The saddest thought of all we find, — 
This fading dimness of the mind. 
Ah, soon beneath the sod he'll lie, 
Nor seems it sad that he should die, 
Por earth no longer holds him charms. 
They're past ! he meekly folds his arms 
To wait the hour when he shall go 
And hide from earth his crest of snow. 



THE POOR MAN'S PLAINT. 

Gaunt and hungry looks the poor man, 
In his dress of shabby clothes ; 

And he says : "The curse of living 
Comes because, as each man knows, 
Mammon's scramblers win. 

"In the city with its workshops. 

In its avenues of trade. 
In pursuits of country places, 

On the farm with hoe and spade. 
Mammon's scramblers win. 

"In the folds of the professions, 
Doctors, lawyers, preachers, too ; 

There the service of the leaders 
Who compose the chosen few, 
Mammon's scramblers win. 

"In the race for public office 
To be counsellors of state ; 

For the voice in party matters 
Which decides the party's fate. 
Mammon's scramblers win. 

"In the strife of all the nations 
To procure the sov'reign sway ; 

In the heat of competition 
To control commmercial way 
Mammon's scramblers win." 



47 



Thus in slums of destitution, 
'Mid the rancid filth that's there, 

Stands the poor man, vainly prating 
"Of the great, the lion's share, 
Mammon's scramblers win." 



4B 



THE CEASELESS GRIND. 

The strong and buoyant form of youth, 

At dawn of day, 
Was ready to ascend the steep, 

Whate'er the way. 
With reckless pace he started forth 

To scale the hight, 
But soon he lost the rainbow tints 

Of youth and light 
In ceaseless grind for bread. 

The poet felt a thrill of life 

Flow into song, 
He grasped the pen to make fair Art 

His spell prolong, 
And wrote he swift and wrote he well. 

But dropped the pen 
When conscious that his lot was with 

The host of men, 
Of ceaseless grind for bread. 

The spirit of reform awoke 

Within the soul 
Of many in the land to lift 

As one the whole 
Great human race to brotherhood ; 

But when poor Need 
Cried out for help, the mass were dumb, 

They could but heed 
Their ceaseless grind for bread. 

49 



THE WISE DEMAND. 

No ; burn the written verses, burn them now ; 
They have no blood, no Hfe and so I vow 
They shall not see the light. My word is law ; 
My headache knows their source ; my brain the 

flaw; 
So burn them. Yes, methought the picture true ; 
The blood then tingled in my veins, but rue 
The thought that airy visions have no breath. 
No pulse, no mind, no speech but speaks like death. 
That dreamy something makes me sick at heart ; 
Now take it from me, death deserves its part. 
I thought 'twould breathe or at the least have sight 
When once in contact with the air and light ; 
But no, the flavor of a moody mind, 
Subjection in its thought, is all we find. 

At times the skyward seems a place of worth ; 
Today the human walk upon the earth. 
The devil with his horns and hoofs today 
Suits better than the evil and its way. 
Before us is the world with seething life ; 
We view it heedlessly — then prate of strife. 
It is the few who see and point to some 
True beauty known by us so oft to come 
And go — in fact a daily household scene ; 
But fool-work mostly even theirs, I ween. 
A poem's life is rhythm of thought — not word; 

50 



And calling varnished scare-crows men, absurd. 
The key-note sounded, then begins the theme, 
But ten to one the chances it will seem 
At first good music, then a hollow sound, 
At last discordant nothingness is found. 
No, burn the verses, burn them nowl say. 
All's lifeless, dead, so put the corse away. 



51 



THE VOICE OF THE MANIAC. 

Dark, darker than the darkest midnight gloom, 
The clouds of reason float above his head, 

While he within the madhouse finds his doom. 
A hollow voice moans "better were he dead." 

Unseemly ebulates his speech 

Until it hisses in a screech. 

"Old empire, break!" he cries, 

"To pieces, fly !" then sighs 
That ominous "decline." 

A soldier of the King in Afric's land 

He fought the stubborn Boer in many frays 

Until old gent Excess with velvet hand 

Led him an abject slave through darksome ways. 

Unseemly ebulates his speech 

Until it hisses in a screech. 

"Old empire, break !" he cries, 

"To pieces, fly!" then sighs 
That ominous "decline." 

He saw the new dug grave where Justice stood 
In protest that a brave wee nation's life 

Should die to feed an empire's lustihood. 
With him, the victor's son. dry rot is rife ; 

Unseemly ebulates his speech 

Until it hisses in a screech. 

"Old empire, break !" he cries, 

"To pieces, fly !" then sighs 
That ominous "decline." 

52 



SPAIDS. 

My name is Spaids of the land of shades, 

But you have never seen me. 
I come at night, when dim's your sight, 

And so move and affright thee. 

Lie still and slumber, be at ease. 

It is the wind, think what you please. 

There's footsteps, sounding in the hall ; 

They are the cats and that is all. 

But no, a sigh, a groan quite near ! 

Be calm ; you're trembling now with fear. 

Again it comes and nearer still ! 

A sound that brings a quaking chill ! 

And you have covered o'er your head 

The bed-quilt of your lonely bed. 

Ah see me ! here I stand serene ; 

Look once, and that will cure your spleen. 

For me foul murders have a charm 

And groans of victims no alarm. 

A rustle in the closet sounds, 

For I am going all my rounds. 

Now look ! but I am safe from view ; 

Behind the door I wait for you. 

Yes, listen with a thumping heart 

And close abated breath and start 

At every move. It does me good 

To see the sweat come, as it should. 

Upon your brow with head just raised 

53 



With new-born courage badly dazed. 

I'm death itself in stillness now, 

Which serves my purpose and my vow 

That sleep your eyelids shall not see 

Until the time it pleases me. 

O lonely, lonely, lonely night ! 

Move on a pace and lift the blight 

From this lone room, I hear you breathe. 

Aha ! my vengeance I'll not sheathe. 

Relaxed and resting are you ? Well, 

I'll break your little peaceful spell. 

What's that ? The vacant chamber door. 

You're nervous tonight and I'm a bore. 

But list ! what is it? thud, thud, thud ! 

Which sounds the awful blood, blood, blood ! 

This way it comes and nearer yet ! 

No time to think or feel regret, 

For at this door a pause is made. 

Oh, can his entrance yet be staid? 

The breathless seconds seem like years ! 

Your hair stands straight frorn palsied fears ? 

Now down the hall the sounds recede 

Till fainter, fainter still we heed 

The echo of a distant tread. 

Lie back and slumber in your bed. 
There's much that's strange in your small range 

Well known as fancy's dangers, 
And I am Spaids of the land of shades 

So we're not wholly strangers. 



54 



THE SEQUENCE. 

The road is long and has no turn, 

I've heard folks say with some concern 

They doubtless thought in some strange way 

They'd be made rich on some fine day. 

But crooked or straight or good or ill, 

What matters it when men stand still? 

The hard is up, the easy down ; 

The one leads home, the next to town. 

Friend Squibs and I may sip the stout 

When of an evening we are out. 

And once a stormy winter's night 

We started home quite late, but right. 

What streets we took I can't qufte say. 

Though somehow got outside our way. 

We tried to wander back again , 

Perhaps we did ; I won't say v/hen. 

Our lives have mysteries in store, 

And sometimes whys and wherefores bore. 

When morning came, oh, where were we? — 

At home, of course — where should we be ? 

LafC. 



55 



THE BOER'S LEGACY. 

Still shouts the clarion voice of freedom : Fight I 
Fight ! fight the grasping Briton from our land ! 
Unconquered live, unconquered die, with hand 
Supporting liberty, our dearest right. 
O Freedom ! listen to our earnest plea ! 
Our God ! we now look up for strength to Thee, 
And ask but what the lowly Christ would give, 
Our nation's life, our homes in which we live. 

Our homes are gone, our comrades fighting fell ; 
Within those hellish camps our women swell 
The tide of death ; old men now prostrate lie, — 
Infirm with age and want, they waste and die. 
But freedom lives ! our scattered bands still fight j 
They hold their stand against an empire's might. 
The Briton knows our rifle's voice full well 
As out across the veldt it speaks his knell. 

Stand fast, O comrades ! die the noble death. 
That freedom still may live without our breath. 
Stand, fight; We once enjoyed our nation's life. 
Aye, fight for father, mother, children, wife. 
Let not the finger point a coward's quake ; 
And Time will say : "They died for freedom's 

sake ;" 
For freedom's sake now fire again ; they flee 
Before the quenchless spirit of the free ! 

56 



.V 2 



^'^ 



Oi 



!\/!AY 20 1902 

1 COPY DEI. TO CAT. OIV. 
MAY 20 1902 

i,lAY 24 1902 



